


This tiresome routine, of slaying gods and losing friends

by PostPrincessPiaP



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Patch 3.5 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PostPrincessPiaP/pseuds/PostPrincessPiaP
Summary: The Warrior of light takes a moment to reflect, at the end of yet another rote struggle on her long and tiresome journey.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is! Kind of a personal fic but I'm very attached to my FF14 character and wanted to share a little of her journey, even if it's usually something I can only experience myself. You can see Marg here http://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/character/11463728/ , she's a very tuff girl, even if she's always struggled with expressing herself and dealing with her own emotions. Heck, I do too! I'm very connected to this strong woman and her struggles with gods and also, depression and crushes and life...Anyway, please enjoy! This takes place at the end of the warring triad storyline but before the events of the 3.5 story dungeon.

Marguerite LeGrande sat quietly, contemplatively, next to a glowing corpse, alone in the quiet of the depths of Azys La. There were scions and imperials around of course, keeping out of earshot and out of her field of view, waiting patiently for the hero of light to have her moment, as she had firmly told them to do. It wasn’t an act of mourning, she’d told them. It could never be an act of mourning, no matter who he’d saved, she’d told them. It was an act of contemplation, she’d told them.

This wasn’t an act of mourning, she told herself. It could never be an act of mourning, no matter who he’d saved, she told herself. This was an act of contemplation, she told herself. 

Eventually she spoke, in quiet tones, each breath tempered into steel, chains and walls keeping whatever complicated emotions she was feeling locked deep inside her chest, far stronger than any prison designed by Allagan hands.

“It’s so stupid you know. When everyone brought up Ysale...I’d already forgotten so long ago that you were on that joke of an airship that she died just to wound. That you probably were the one to order the shot that ended her life. It was all so impersonal so, so pointless. That her life ended just to ground your silly toy boat with its silly little guns. Just another muted tragedy in this wretched series of wars.”

Tired eyes, eyes that had long ago grown sick of tears, stared lifelessly at the glow of ceruleum leaking out of the legatus armor, like blood from a wound. Here Regula lay, dead before her, as she’d wanted since they met, and he didn’t even have the decency to stain his armor red like she’d envisioned. But maybe the blood was there, mingled with the Ceruleum, lost within the bright glow...it wasn’t really worth thinking about, now.

“I was grateful for you, in a way you know, after Thordan died, after the dragonsong war was brought to a close. I was grateful to have another stupid man with a stupid set of armor and a stupid name to crush beneath my axe, grateful for your floundering with the triad, grateful for that farce you called swordplay. The sound I made when your idiot blade spit out a tiger...ha, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was almost like a morbid little game I played with you, whether I’d get to kill you, when it was still fun, before you took one of those precious from me away, though I doubt you thought of it that way. That's how...routine this all is, to me, you know. You helped me pretend this was all just an adventure again. Helped me play the heroine again, for a while.”

Marguerite sighed, a deep and ragged sigh, and stood to her full height. Her muscles were sore and her body scarred and aching, the generous rewards for her life as a godslayer.

“I didn’t expect this. This wasn’t redeeming, this wasn’t endearing, this wasn’t...a resolution, I don’t think. Even with the triad returned to the aether, as little as it means to me anymore. even with the empire ready to quit this wretched place. Even with you dead.”

A heavy silence hung between the hero of light and the corpse, long and dark and confusing. Then, stiffly, Marguerite lent down and removed the magitech helmet she’d sometimes dreamed of splitting in two, and looked at the dead man's face, just once. His eyes were closed, his skin pale. He might have been handsome, in life, but Marguerite had never been able to tell with men.

“...just a little more than a stupid man with a stupid name and a stupid set of armor. Not enough, nothing could ever have been enough.. But I can acknowledge that it was just a little”

She placed a hand on her axe....and then turned towards her friends, towards the scions old and new, who against all odds were here and safe and triumphant, the helmet clattering to the ground, the sound echoing throughout the containment bay. 

There was no need for anything else


End file.
